Snape-Sitting
by the.ravenclaw.woods
Summary: It's a bit weird, at first, to live with your former potions professor, especially since you're now nearly his age. And it gets weirder when you realize how bloody sexy he is. -A short, sweet fic with a couple of lemons. You Sevmione OTP folk do not disappoint. This one's for you.- Five Parts.
1. Chapter 1

Day 2

 _Snape really does have a nice neck_ , Hermione thought as she glanced at him over her mobile. She blinked, startled at her brain's wanderings, and, as though he could sense it, he whipped his black eyes to hers. "May I help you, Miss Granger?"

She fought the impulse to wince at the biting sound in his voice and shout, _Sir, yes, sir!_ She wasn't a child anymore, damn it, but ever since he got here, she'd been experiencing curious flashbacks to her tormented Hogwarts years. "No, Professor. I was simply wondering how you were enjoying your accommodations." She made an exaggerated sweeping motion with her arm as she gestured to her home.

Yes, Snape was staying at her home, her bloody _home_ , all thanks to Rita bloody Skeeter. If it weren't for the paid vacation that Snape-sitting afforded her, she'd have had Skeeter sacked immediately. It was monstrous the woman was still considered a journalist in the first place.

"The accommodations, Miss Granger, are adequate. Though certainly not without its... flaws." He made a point to sneer directly at her before he returned to _The Daily Prophet_. It was an older edition, from several weeks before. 'Snape Returns From the Veil,' it proclaimed, continuing: _After Rita Skeeter broke the news that "the bravest man Harry Potter ever knew" was back from the dead, having not aged ten minutes, rumors swarmed over the Dark Prince's motivations. 'It may very well be a terrible curse,' one anonymous letter to the editor proclaimed. 'It may be You-Know-Who in disguise!' another Howler shrieked. It was only when Hermione Granger agreed to monitor the former Potions Professor for a number of weeks did the public breathe a sigh of relief and begin to celebrate- rather than condemn- his return. Neither Granger, nor Snape, could be reached for comment at this time._ Hermione sighed and opened her eyes. She knew the article practically by heart.

"You know, Professor, it was either two weeks here or three months in the mental health ward at St. Mungo's."

"May I remind you that I was, indeed, present when I was sentenced-"

"It wasn't a sentencing-"

"When my captivity was scheduled, then." Snape stood, glaring. "I thought I had made myself clear yesterday regarding the issue of us speaking to each other, but it appears that the brightest witch has…" he regarded her with nothing but disdain, "...dimmed."

Hermione thought he expected her to react in some sort of dramatic, teenage fashion. Perhaps call him a wanker, or stalk off, weeping. Or both. But hell, she was the _mother_ of teenagers now. He was going to have to try a lot harder than that.

When she simply raised an eyebrow at him, he stomped closer to her. "Miss Granger, do allow me to reiterate my request. For the duration of my… schedule… let us both pretend the other isn't here. Do I make myself clear?"

She dropped her eyes to his neck, the only bit of skin the Professor displayed, besides his hands and face, of course. Yes, the Nagini bite was there- pale and faded. But there were also the veins and muscles, accentuated by the afternoon light. And his Adam's apple, bobbing. She could almost hear Ginny, doing her sing-song voice. _You know what they say about enormous Adam's apples_ …

"Miss Granger?"

"It's _Ms._ Granger, sir. We are now nearly the same age, and I am divorced and twice a mother."

"Nearly the same age, Ms. Granger? If I recall, I am still thirty-seven, while you appear much closer to your fifties."

Well, that one did sting, a bit. Hermione prided herself on her impeccable skincare routine. She was just carded the other week in Muggle London! "What the hell are you going on about, Professor?"

" _Mr._ Snape, since we are now contemporaries, as you insist." He studied her face with a sneer. "You look no older than forty-nine."

"I'll have you know that I drink seven glasses of water a day _and_ get a full nine hours of sleep every-" Hermione had marched to the nearest framed mirror. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Language, Ms. Granger." He had taken a step back, but seemed to be curious as to what caused her outburst.

She sighed. "I don't appear fifty, professor. I am merely about to get a migraine. A nasty one, from the looks of it."

Yes, all the tell-tale signs were there. Blue circles under red eyes. Bit of a sniffle. Her lips were all swollen and tingly. She eyed him from the reflection. "You're just in luck, _Mr._ Snape. Pretending you don't exist should be rather easy for the next three days."

Day 4

Hermione groaned from her bed. She'd just brushed her teeth and changed from one pair of pajamas to the next, and, her body insisting that was quite enough for one day, had plopped right back on the covers. She couldn't believe how hard her head was still throbbing- usually that bit only lasted 12 hours- but she suspected the added stress of her new housemate wasn't helping in the least.

She sandwiched her head with a pillow and was just wondering if she had the energy to pop on season two of Luke Cage when there was the slightest rap. It was so soft, she was convinced she was simply hearing a loud clock ticking out of nowhere, but then it happened again.

"Ms. Granger?" It was muffled, but she couldn't deny it any longer. Mr. Let's-Pretend-the-Other-isn't-There was just outside her bedroom door.

She made to lift her torso, but immediately knew that wasn't going to happen. "Come in, please," she called.

The door creaked open and for a few moments, she heard nothing. A great deal of thoughts fell upon her at once. First, she was glad that she'd picked up her bedroom before his arrival, even though, at the time, she was convinced there would be no bedroom appearances for Snape. She was also glad that it was dark, per the needs of her migraine, as she didn't need for him to take a look at her face and proclaim her thirty five years to now resemble one hundred and thirty five.

And finally, she also was a bit dismayed that she hadn't reached for any lip balm before calling him in. _Lip balm?_ She chuckled to herself. _Why the hell would I need lip balm?_

"Is something amusing, Ms. Granger?"

He was probably standing just by her bedside, but somehow, the deep gravel of Snape's voice seemed to vibrate directly to her clit. A warmth spread over her abdomen, culminating in the tightening of her nipples. When she peeked at him from under her pillow, she was shocked to find him gazing at her with concern. His lips were pursed, and plump, and pink, and she imagined what they would taste like and nearly gasped when another wave of lust came over her.

 _Oh,_ she thought idly. _Perhaps that's why I wanted lip balm._

"You are not well," he said.

She involuntarily squeezed her thighs together. "No," she agreed.

"I have brought you a potion."

"Headache potions don't help with my migraines anymore."

"It is not a common headache potion."

She shrugged, pushed her torso up with great effort, and accepted the bottle.

"You will need breakfast with the potion."

"I'm- I'm not very hungry.

"I gathered that from the fact that you haven't eaten in nearly two days."

She glanced up at him and downed the potion. It tasted a bit like root vegetables. All in all, not that bad for a magical potion. "Hmm." A moment later, she glanced around, the throb in her head immediately gone. "Oh, Gods! That's amazing."

Snape flicked his wand and a tray settled itself on her lap. Eggs Benedict with buttered toast. Her mouth watered. She grabbed the fork, and he watched as she took her first bite. She couldn't stop the groan- who knew Snape could cook? "Gods, thank you. This is incredible."

Apparently satisfied, he left her room without a word.

x

It must've been the migraine. Now that Hermione was showered and dressed, she could hardly remember the lusty mood that had nearly ended her an hour earlier. _Migraines do weird things to people_ , she reminded herself. Sometimes she couldn't even speak in proper sentences in the throes of a particularly bad one. So yes, it had to have been the migraine, and now the migraine was gone, and therefore improper Snape-thoughts were well behind her.

She walked downstairs and found him reading, leaning against the fireplace. _See_ , she thought. _Just the dungeon bat. Nothing even remotely sexy about the git._

 _Except that neck_ , something in her subconscious murmured. She swatted the unwelcome thought away, which prompted the glare of Snape.

"Ms. Granger," he said, sounding genuinely appalled. "Where is your clothing?"

Hermione glanced down at her spaghetti-strap tank top and cut-off short shorts. "What? I'm wearing both tops and bottoms." She eyed him and his thousand-buttoned get-up. "Just because my wrists are showing doesn't mean that I'm not wearing clothes. Besides." She grabbed her floppy straw hat from the entryway. "I'm going into the garden. Care to join me?"

"No." He was back to his book.

She paused. "What exactly was that potion, anyway? I've tried everything for migraines, but nothing has-"

"It was one of my own."

His tone made it clear that was all she was getting out of him. "Fine," she said, stomping past him to the back door.

"Ahhh," she sighed as she shut it behind her, closing her eyes to the scent of dirt and blooms that overcame her. Gardening was one of the things she scarcely had time for since her recent promotion, and she'd been missing it something awful.

She started in the herb spiral, pulling the dried basil to make room for their baby volunteers, then cutting back the mint. She trimmed the spent blooms off the roses- her absolute favorite sort, English tea. Pink and peach and bi-colored orange and white, all stuffed with so many petals, it was hard to believe there was room for them all. She cut several perfect blooms and put them aside.

After harvesting a few vegetables, she let herself lie in the lavender, her favorite gardening past time. The breeze brought the sweet, licorice scent to her nose, and she lazily watched the bumblebees fly back and forth, completely unbothered by her presence.

She felt his eyes upon her as she stretched, her shirt riding up her belly. She glanced at the house, and while she couldn't see his face, his form on the window was unmistakable. _He's probably jealous **he's** not in the lavender_, she thought and she pulled her hat right over her head and decided it was high time for a cat nap.

Before she dozed off, she thought, It hasn't been nearly as bad as I thought. Maybe Snape-sitting would be a smooth ride, after all. _Although_ , something in her subconscious added, _I wouldn't object if there were a literal ride at some point..._

And then, before she could slap herself silly, she was out.

* * *

 _I know. I am MONTHS behind on AASIR & The Lemon Tree, and now I'm putting out a new fic? I apologize, sincerely. I'm preparing for book revisions on a novel that is getting published (omg!) and, out of nowhere, this plot bunny hit me right in the head and wouldn't stop. So one day, while I had a terrible migraine, I slapped a little story together. It's pretty short, smutty, and sweet (I hope), and I hope you all enjoy while I get ready to return to my other fics very, very soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

Day 6

The roses were still as fragrant as ever, cupped in a little vase in her kitchen. Hermione bent to smell them between breakfast tasks. She had no idea if Snape would join her- he seemed to be on his own schedule as far as meals- but she made two spinach omelettes nonetheless. Her breadmaker dinged and she pulled the loaf out, moaning at the smell.

"Ms. Granger." His voice was in complaint-mode; she could sense it already.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What now, Snape?"

"I must insist that you wear proper clothing during my stay. That… ensemble… is entirely inappropriate."

Good Gods, not again with the clothing. She knew she wasn't indecent, with her silk shorts and lace-trimmed top. It was a bit warm for a robe was all.

"I am merely wearing what I'd wear if you weren't here. Which was your request, if you'll recall." She sliced open the golden loaf, admiring the swirls of steam that reached out, ignoring her subconscious thought rising to the surface: _Liar_. _Since when have you worn silk just for yourself?_

"Then dress as though I am here. Speak as though I am not." He sneered. "Frankly, no one needs to see such… exposure."

"Gods, Snape! I'm wearing pajamas! What did women wear to bed in your time, turtleneck kitchen dresses?"

"I'm simply requesting a smidgen of decorum."

Hermione spread butter on a hunk of bread and placed it on the plate, next to the omelette. "Here." She flicked the plate toward him with her wand. "I'll take my breakfast upstairs so you won't have to deal with my apparently repulsive bedclothes during your meal."

Hermione shoved her omelette into her mouth in bed. _Where on earth does he get off, anyhow? As though he's easy on the eyes. Well, he's not_ _ **not**_ _easy on the eyes, is he? Not anymore, now that I'm grown and can see beyond the summary of 'greasy old man.'_ Snape wasn't old anymore, not to her. _But still. Where on earth does he get off? And_ _**how**_ _would the likes of Snape get off, anyway? Would he groan or roll his eyes back or- No. No. Stop it!_

She brushed at her abdomen, as though that would, in any way, help with the heat that blossomed there.

She wanted to get out. Needed to. But she couldn't leave him alone, per the Wizengamot-ordained agreement. It was bullshit, as everyone knew, though rare, returns from the veil weren't unheard of. Everyone knew the bastard was, indeed, Snape. Not some imposter. And this wasn't the work of any curses, either- he'd been through all the checks and protocols. Not a trace of dark magic was detected. No, this was the work of the larger universe, which decided Snape had some unfinished business in the living word. The least any of them could do was to allow the man to figure it out in peace. But no, they'd insisted on a monitoring period, just "to be sure." Bloody Rita Skeeter and her riling up the public with fear.

"It has to be you, Hermione," Harry had said. "We've got the baby, and you-"

 _Have no one_ was left unsaid, though true. Now that Hugo was enrolled in Hogwarts, she really was devastatingly alone most of the day, most of the year. She suspected Harry had her take Snape at least in part due to the pitiful circumstances of her life, but he'd insisted the public would be much more at ease if the brightest witch, one of the Golden Trio, would declare Snape good, and true, and-

 _Sexy._

 _No, no, no!_ She shoved her plate to the side. _That_ was exactly why she had to get out!

So to the garden it was. She stood and began shoving her little, pretty, decorum-less night-things off. Then she reached into a creaky dresser draw and grabbed the tiniest garments she owned. _Take that_ , she thought, tying the little strips of pink nylon on.

x

Of course, Hermione didn't have the guts to walk about the house in a string bikini, but she shed her translucent white cover the second she was outside. She was mildly disappointed Snape was in his room for her swimsuit and see-through-cover's debut, but what was a woman to do?

Prance about outside in just the bikini, of course. So what if the butterfly bushes that needed a trim were just beyond his bedroom window? It was simply a coincidence.

After doing a great deal of bending and cutting on the bushes, Hermione dragged a reclining lawn chair between the little lavender rows and faced it toward the sun, which was sadly away from the house. She was hoping to give Mr. Snape a little more of a show, (he deserved it, the prude!) but it would be too obvious to face the windows now. Instead, she leaned back and a wicked idea came upon her. She grabbed her gardening bag and pulled out a mirror, (Hermione'd learned long ago it was generally a good idea to leave life-savers in just about every bag she owned), discreetly checking the windows with it. Yes! He was there, his looming dark form right upon the back door glass. Hermione dropped the bag and undid her top, making a great show of tossing it to the ground. Back still turned to the house, she leaned on the chair and sighed. So what if she hadn't sunbathed topless in a decade? She was deeply in need of some rays, and there was no time like the present.

x

The Dark Prince, as the papers loved to call him, was nowhere to be found when she crept back inside. He didn't appear from his guest room before or after her shower, nor while she cooked dinner. Hermione sat down, alone, with a pesto panini sandwich and some crisps. Her face burned as she wondered what his reaction was when- if- he saw her bare back after she shed the top. She had resecured it before turning 'round again (she didn't want to give him _that_ much of a show), but… did he widen his eyes? Did he cough or choke on his breath? Did he hate it? Or worse, did he love it?

 _Damnit!_ Why, why, why did she tease him like that? What on earth was wrong with her? Surely she wasn't attracted to the man.

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. _Okay, fine, damnit. Damnit, damnit._ Yes. He was… alluring. Especially when he'd worked himself into a tizzy over her clothes… or lack thereof. She secretly hoped his outer repulsion at seeing her body was hiding some form of inner attraction. Or desire.

Regardless, thinking of her fun-in-the-sun adventure was mortifying now that the sun had set.

It must be the fact that she hadn't entertained a man in… Gods, had it been six years already? Six years since she'd… well, there was that one kiss with Blaise Zabini last New Year's, but she'd hexed his hands away (nearly clean off, he'd yelped) when he'd reached under her dress and that, fortunately, was that.

Desperate. She'd been desperate for some sexual attention. And it must've been so obvious!

Oh, dear. There was no way she could face him now. Throwing the last bite of her sandwich back, she grabbed a bag and filled it with food. She was going to be camping in the ol' bedroom for the next day and half or so. Just until she stopped imagining him gazing upon her back, perhaps the side-curve of her breast as she reached for her top. Just until she stopped imagining Snape watching her with a rather large erection.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 8

Hermione needed a project.

She'd deep cleaned her bathroom, organized her closet, and watched half of Luke Cage's season two. She'd snacked on bread and cheese and chocolates for the last day and a half, wishing she'd thought to grab some fruit for her bedroom camp-out.

And now she was bored out of her mind.

"Oh! I know!" She flicked her wand and heaps of containers slid out from under her bed. She blew dust off of one carved wooden box and opened it, releasing knitting needles and yarn. Yes, it was a wedding gift from her former mother-in-law. Yes, at the time, she'd thought it a sexist message regarding Hermione's lack of homemaking skills. But now, she couldn't have been more grateful for it. _I think I'll make some socks_ , Hermione thought, shoving the boxes back under the bed. _Or a hat! Or, ooh, a vest!_

Thirty minutes later, Hermione threw the needles down. "Fuck," she said, shivering. "Why the hell is it so bloody cold?" She placed a hand on her forehead. She didn't feel like she had a fever. Her whole body in chills now, she walked to the dresser and pulled out her favorite frumpy flannel pajamas. After pulling up wool socks, she walked downstairs to see what the hell was going on with the thermostat.

It was late, later than she'd realized, nearly ten. She laughed, thinking of what an old lady she'd become, in the middle of her thirties, no less, thinking ten was late.

Looking around as she reached the bottom of the staircase, she saw no signs of Snape. _Good_ , she thought. She ran to the thermostat and was aghast to see that it still said 25 degrees Celsius. _In what universe?_ she thought, wrapping her arms around herself as her teeth chattered.

It was then that she heard the breathing. Heavy breathing. Oh Gods. Either Snape was dying or… she almost didn't want to think about it, but the idea of him wanking sent another shiver up her spine. Shit, she ought to just go upstairs and leave the bloke to his devices. But the breathing seemed just around the corner. She ought to just make sure he wasn't dying, yeah?

She rounded the wall and froze.

Snape wasn't dying. Nor wanking. No, he was just doing a series of intense push-ups in the middle of her living room.

He wore a short sleeved black t-shirt, and his arm muscles were all bulgy. He was sweating. Considering how bloody cold it was, that indicated he'd been at it for a good long while.

Hermione decided not to disrupt the man's workout. However, she _was_ dying for some fruit, wasn't she? She cast a silencing spell over her feet and walked toward the kitchen. She pulled a basket of strawberries out of the fridge, then poured herself a glass of of whiskey. Sitting on the kitchen table, where she could observe Snape's body, pumping up and down, she bit into a strawberry.

"Ms. Granger," he said between breaths, causing her to nearly fall off the table. "It appears as though you have a problem with… voyeurism."

Hermione snorted, the whiskey already warming her up. In addition to observing his neck muscles as he pushed himself up… and down... on her wood floors, he was likely referring to her little topless escapade the other day, maybe even implying this sort of thing was a fetish of hers. And maybe it was. Who knew? Either way, she was already at the bottom of her glass, well on her way to tipsy, and so she said, "I'm just enjoying strawberries and spirits. When your finished, you may join me, if you like."

He didn't respond to that, merely holding his firm, lean body in a plank for what seemed like ages. Hermione felt exhausted by just watching him. And yet… she couldn't stop.

He lifted himself up sometime in the middle of Hermione's third drink. "Thank you for your invitation. I will join you, if you are still willing, after my shower." He did a weird little bow and disappeared into his room.

Bloody hell. Without his long, sweeping coat, Hermione was able to take a long look at the man's arse. And it was good. Firm-looking, not too rounded, nor too flat. She imagined grabbing it as he pumped right into- _er._ She flushed and pushed herself off the table, floating the food and drink- along with an additional glass- to the sofa.

Oh, hell. Three and a half whiskeys in, she really couldn't deny it any longer. She wanted this man. A man who couldn't possibly be more disgusted with her bare skin.

"Ms. Granger. I see your wardrobe, though remarkably hideous, has improved in nearly every capacity."

Case in point.

 _Though, gods, that was an awfully quick shower, wasn't it?_ She shook her head. _Or maybe you're just too drunk to keep a handle on time._

Snape took a seat on the arm chair, reaching to pour his glass. He shook his head when Hermione gestured to the strawberries.

Hermione narrowed her eyes as his words registered. "It's you, isn't it? You made it a fucking ice storm in here so I'd have to cover up."

Snape only raised an eyebrow in response, taking a long sip of whiskey.

Hermione rolled her eyes and bit another strawberry. Yup, she certainly had a good shot with this one. A fellow who'd withstand freezing temperatures _inside_ a home so he wouldn't have to withstand the sight of her knees. _You know how to pick 'em_ , she told herself. Or, to her vagina, rather.

"So." Hermione leaned back, pulling her knees to her chest. "How are things?"

"I'd much rather drink in companionable silence, if you don't mind."

Hermione did mind. She sort of had this clit-based need to hear him speak some more, but she didn't know how to go about doing it without pissing him off. Instead, she cracked her knuckles and folded and unfolded her hands a couple of times.

Snape gave a sharp sigh. "Go on, then."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"You want to ask, just like the rest of them."

She made a face as she sipped her whiskey. It was even more bitter at that moment, thanks to the contrast with the strawberries. "I don't know what you mean."

Snape did not look amused. "You want to know what it was like to be dead. That's what you practically desperate to ask, wasn't it, fidgeting like a bloody school girl."

Hermione grimaced. A school girl? Jesus Christ, she wasn't going to lay this fellow at all, was she? And what did he say, again? Oh, right. She shook her head. "Never occured to me. Honestly. An experience like that. It seems like it would be none of my business."

Snape looked at her with an expression she'd never seen on his face. If she had to wager a descriptor, she'd go with 'curiosity.' Like he'd never really looked at her before. And she had no bloody idea of what to say, so she bit the strawberry again. It was a particularly juicy one, and she felt it bead up a bit on her lip, which she licked, she hoped, discreetly. But no- not discreetly enough. Because Snape's eyes were on her mouth, and he very nearly dropped his glass, covering the whole act up with a great deal of coughing.

"Do you need some water?" Hermione asked, with concern in her voice. But she was thirty five and knew by now when a man was poorly pretending he hadn't been watching her lips and tongue.

Snape waved her off and sipped his drink some more. But his cheeks were still a little pink, she noted.

Hermione decided to quit while she was ahead. "Well, I'm off," she said, wishing she was wearing something a bit more intriguing than reindeer flannels. "Change the temperature back, would you? Or else I'll get frostbite on all my bits. And that certainly wouldn't do, would it?"

Snape's eyes widened just a touch. Just enough for Hermione to smile. "Good night," she said cheerily, making her way to the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

_This one gets lemony._

Day 10

The man made himself completely scarce for the next day and a half. She only saw him enter rooms as she was leaving them, and he was quite rude about ignoring anything she had to say. Hermione could only assume he'd regretted her moment of flirtation… if one could even call it that. _At least he warmed the house back up_ , she mused.

She sat on the sofa around eight, reading and drinking wine, wearing little more than a threadbare mauve sweater. It hung off her right shoulder, reveal the fact of no bra, and it was just long enough to cover her knickers. Slouchy socks that reached her knees completed the ensemble. She knew the look was closer to 'desperation' than she cared to admit, but it wasn't like he would even see her, anyway, what with his bedroom-confinement and all.

Still. She brought out a second wine glass. Just in case.

An hour later, Hermione was buzzed out of her mind, half the bottle guzzled. She was about to toss the book, down some water, and get to bed… when the sofa shifted under her. She turned to see the professor looking a bit stiff, as far away as her as he could be while still sitting on the loveseat. He raised an eyebrow at the wine and she nodded. He poured himself a hefty glass.

She continued to read as he sipped, glancing from the side at him every so often. This close, she could smell him. All nutmeg and mossy oak and _man_. Gods. He was probably fucking delicious. The thought made her head spin- though that was also possibly due to the alcohol.

Finally, he spoke. "Flittanbone."

Hermione tilted her head toward him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Add crushed flittanbone root to a traditional headache potion. It enhances all the…" He sipped his wine. "...properties."

Hermione blinked. "Flittanbone, though, would neutralize the moonweed-"

"Not if you boil it first."

"Huh. Gods, I should've known that, shouldn't have I?"

"Flittanbone is a common enough ingredient in darker potions that it wouldn't have come up in your school curriculum due to the... politics of the day."

"Still, though." It wasn't like Hermione hadn't read a dark potions book or two. But she shook her head and smiled. "Well, thank you."

He lifted his wine, as though bidding her good fortune, and finished his last sip. She reached for the bottle and poured him another, all in silence.

Since he initiated the conversation, Hermione thought it wouldn't be terrible if she just… kept it up a bit. She angled her body so that she was facing him, her legs tucked under her, book forgotten on the sofa arm. "Do you have any plans? After… all this?" She waved a hand around them.

Snape gave a noncommittal shrug- the most informal gesture she'd ever seen him perform. _Gods, he must be as tipsy as me._ "All of my former properties have been de-bequeathed. I was considering staying at my grandmother's La Flotte cottage for a time."

"In France?"

He nodded.

"How nice." Hermione sipped her wine. "Sea salt wind and teal-trimmed village homes…" She sighed. "It sounds terribly romantic."

Instead of responding, he grabbed a family photo from the side table, fingering it in his long, lovely hands.

"Go on then," Hermione said with a smile.

He frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"You want to know what happened between me and Ron. You missed the whole shite show, after all."

Snape simply raised an eyebrow, placing the photo back on the table.

"He's an arse. No, that's not fair. But it is true. And what's true isn't always fair." Christ, was she babbling already?

Thankfully, Snape did not remark upon it. "Mr. Weasley did always seem far below your level of… intellect."

Hermione snorted. "Intellect wasn't the problem, not at first, anyhow. He seemed to think my level of appearance was far below his. Or, at least, that's what he threw back at me when I found him in bed with a woman nearly half his age." Hermione sighed. "She was beautiful, though. I'll give him that."

Snape cleared his throat, eyeing her bare thighs with barely concealed appreciation. "Mr. Weasley has never had a mind to value what he has."

"That's exactly what I said!" Hemione flicked her want and the bottle of whiskey in the kitchen floated to the coffee table. She filled both of their empty wine glasses. "No matter. It's over and done with. He's moved on to greener pastures and-" Hermione smiled, lifting her glass. "And so have I."

Snape froze, but he got over it quickly, clinking his wine glass to hers. They finished their drinks in silence. "Well, Ms. Granger." Snape placed his glass back down and made to get up.

"Oh, no, please don't go." Hermione stretched her legs out so that they were sprawled across his lap. "See, there. You're trapped."

"Ms. Granger." Snape lowered his hands to lift her legs, but decided to refrain from touching her at the last moment.

"Oh, fine." Hermione pulled her legs back towards herself. "Ruin my fun."

"And just what did you have in mind for 'fun' this evening?" He raised an eyebrow, his cheeks pink, his lips wine-red, and Hermione just couldn't help herself. She gave him a dazzling smile, one which seemed to slacken his jaw. And she climbed over him, so that she was now straddling him _and_ his rather prominent erection.

Staring down at him, she winked. "I was thinking something like this?"

Snape looked the picture of cool, but Hermione noticed his breath had sped up just a touch. Also, the aforementioned erection _right there_. "I doubt the Wizengamot courts would approve of your current… proximity to me."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, I doubt they'd care. This whole thing is a formality, after all. We all know it's you." She placed her hands on his shoulders, gliding them down his chest. "I, for one, am quite glad you're back, Mr. Snape."

And then he kissed her. Hermione couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd slapped her with a bludger- he'd seemed so hesitant, even after she'd crawled in his lap! It took her about two seconds to get over it, however, and she eagerly moved her lips with his.

His kiss started slow, sweet, reverent. But Hermione was already nearly soaked. So she nudged her tongue in and kissed him as deeply as she could. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down, gasping when her hot core ground on his length. He broke apart. "Gods." His voice was so raspy, it immediately sent a shiver down her back.

"Indeed," Hermione murmured, unbuttoning his pants. He stared, as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked. She pulled out his cock and stroked it. The tip was already wet. "Is this alright?"

"Yes." It was just above a whisper. Snape's breath grew wild as he watched her slick her hand over him, again and again. "Fuck." He dropped his head back on the couch, but lifted it up quickly, like he needed to see it. To watch her.

"I'm ready," she whispered, letting go to pull her knickers to the side. "Alright?" She grabbed him and slid him inside in one motion. "Oh, my, god," she whispered, eyes rolling back. He was so long and thick, she was already more than halfway there.

But then he was so quiet, she thought something was wrong. But she looked right at him, at his black eyes and lusty, half-lidded gaze. "Please," he said.

She nodded and proceeded to ride him. Hard. "Oh," she said, groaning and squirming. "Oh, oh, oh, oh-"

Snape gave a shout and shivered under her, his cock pulsing. "Are you-" Hermione asked, but it was clear he was, and she slowed down enough to make his finish more comfortable. She leaned her face against his shoulder and realized, with dismay, that she'd hadn't even thought to tease this neck she'd been obsessed with for over a week now. She softly pressed her lips to him, right below his ear.

That had lasted, what? A minute? Hermione smiled against his skin. Well, it had been quite a bloody while for the poor bloke, hadn't it? They could always try for longer later.

She pulled her head back, her smile dropping when she saw that he was scowling at her. Lifting her up by the hips, he not-very-nicely placed her on the sofa and stood, buttoning up his trousers forcefully.

"Did I do something wrong?" Hermione asked. "It wasn't good for you?"

"It was a mistake," Snape hissed, his voice so sharp, she gasped. He gave her one last glare before stomping into his bedroom.

Hermione groaned. Snape turned back into a git and she was going to end the night orgasm-less? _Whatever_ , she thought, standing up. She was far past the age to cry over the antics of lunatic men. Even if she regretted not having another longer ride on that glorious cock.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Earlier, I forgot to post Day 12 with 14! Apologies if the story made little sense as a result. All should be fixed now!**_

 _Also, there are more lemons, naturally._

Day 12

Hermione stretched on her lawn chair and adjusted her floppy hat. The weather was absolutely glorious- warm and breezy, the sky filled with cotton white clouds. She'd had half a mind to knock on Snape's door that morning and invite him out, but decided against it at the last moment. Wasn't as though he would agree to it- she hadn't even seen the back of him since the night of 'the sex,' as she'd been referring to it in her head. Besides, when she approached his door, she'd heard him pacing and muttering to himself in what sounded like growls. It certainly didn't sound like he'd be much for company, anyway.

So it was quite the surprise when she head footsteps fall just behind her. "Ms. Granger."

"Oh!" she said, thanking the Gods she hadn't shed her suit top yet. "Good afternoon, Mr. Snape."

"Yes." His face was grim as he wrung his hands.

Hermione frowned. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I just, I came by to… ah… apologize for my behavior the other night."

Snape apologizing? To her? She thought blibbering humdingers would fly first! She hid her shock with a smile, however. "Well, don't worry about it." She waved her hand. "I apologize, as well."

"Why?" His voice was raspy and he cleared it. "Why are you apologizing?"

Hermione smiled and shrugged. "I was terrible at 'the sex.' Obviously." She grinned at him, to keep it all lighthearted, but he just frowned deeper. Which sent her babbling. "I mean, Ron always told me I was the worst in bed, and I just thought he was being a jerk, but I guess he... Anyway, I should've spared you that night. So that's why I'm sorry."

His face still resembled one he'd make if he'd been forced to eat a rotted lemon. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Ms. Granger. Except, perhaps, for marrying the dunderhead in the first place."

Hermione laughed. "Ah, too true. But I did get Rose and Hugo out of him. So it certainly wasn't a bad deal at all, in the end."

"What's it like, to be a mother?" The question came out so fast and uncertain, Hermione blinked a few times to make sure she'd heard it right.

"Wow." She leaned back, pulling her hat off. "I feel I've been one for so long now, but…" She looked right into his black eyes. "It wasn't as though before motherhood, life had no meaning. But afterward, I realized I'd given up a piece of me, of my heart, you know? They each have my heart."

"It sounds as though you're now terribly vulnerable, Ms. Granger."

Hermione laughed again. "Oh, that's exactly it. I'm more vulnerable. Which means I get hurt more easily, but it also means I experience love more deeply. Not to say that doesn't happen to folks without children, but that's how the experience worked out for me."

When she glanced over, Snape was, once again, looking at her with an intense curiosity. "You really are… older… aren't you?"

Hermione snorted. "Well, according to you, I look nearly fifty."

"Thirty."

Hermione tilted her head.

"When you're not indisposed. You look approximately thirty."

Hermione grinned. "Mr. Snape! Was that an actual compliment?"

He snorted. "Hardly. You are thirty five. It's not as though I said you looked like a teenager."

She laughed. "Well, thank you, anyway."

He gave a curt nod and turned, disappearing through the yard and in the house before she could say anything more.

Day 14

Hermione sighed. _Snape's leaving tomorrow_ , something inside of her said. "Don't remind me," she muttered, slipping down deeper into the covers.

She'd spent the last two days just _talking_ with the man. They'd discussed wizarding philosophical theory. He'd gone over her potions notebook, giving her advice on some of her remedies. She'd updated him on wizarding gossip, and even though he'd said he had no use for such drivel, he'd sat down with the coffee she'd made him and listened with rapt interest. She told him about Rose and Hugo. He told her about considering a return to Hogwarts.

And, last night, when she'd left him to go upstairs, she placed a warm kiss on his cheek. A kiss that made his ears turn scarlet.

 _I'm just desperate_ , she thought. _Lonely and desperate._

She was still chastising herself for said desperation when a small scroll, no wider than half the width of her pinky, floated in front of her and spun. She furrowed her brow and the parchment dove, landing in her hand.

"What in the-" She unrolled it and found the spidery scrawl of Snape's handwriting.

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _I would be pleased to thank you for your hospitality by arranging dinner tonight._

 _If you accept, please let me know before mid-afternoon._

 _S.S._

Hermione smiled as the letters dissolved. She grabbed a quill.

 _Mr. Snape,_

 _It would bring me no better pleasure than to accept your invitation._

 _-H_

As she stood in front of her closet, deciding what to wear for the day, the scroll returned.

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _Very well. Please allow me some privacy downstairs starting at 6:00 while I_

 _prepare. Dinner will be served at 7:00 sharp._

 _S.S._

 _P.S. Certainly "no better pleasure" is a hyperbole. If not, I find it prudent that we amend your expectations with regards to "pleasure" tonight._

Hermione blinked. Was Snape… was he actually flirting with her? It was hard to tell on paper, but it almost seemed like… oh, hell. _Stop being so desperate!_ She watched as the note dissolved into disappearing glitter, likely charmed to do so at the end of the correspondence.

In the afternoon, Hermione invited Snape to join her in the garden, but he'd declined, instead camping in her library with a pile of books.

"Are those cookbooks?" Hermione asked, looking right at his Adam's apple.

"Eyes up here, Ms. Granger."

Hermione nearly gasped as she jerked her face up to a smug-looking Snape. "What?" she asked, going for innocence. She was looking at his neck for God's sake. It wasn't like he'd caught her ogling his crotch.

"Is there anything else you need?" He sounded a bit impatient, but again, his eyes sparkled.

"No, just, ah. If _you_ need anything, let me know."

He nodded and she made her way outside.

x

Hermione sighed as she stepped in the shower, her stomach doing strange things as she imagined what, exactly, Snape was up to downstairs.

"Don't be an idiot," she moaned to herself. But then she had a vivid flash of the man's cock, and, well, she had to turn the shower off quickly, lest she touch herself right then and there, cliched and undersexed housewife that she was turning out to be.

Hermione chose a lilac sundress for dinner. A hint of cleavage here, bare shoulders, a soft, flowy skirt. Nothing that indicated that Snape's cock had been on her mind for the last… oh, hell, last bloody two weeks. No use in lying to herself at this point.

She dabbed vanilla amber on her wrists and neck. May as well smell nice, especially if one is going to be eating dinner with a master potioneer, no?

She walked downstairs, her stomach fluttering with the wings of a hundred butterflies and… _hmm_. She stepped into the kitchen, then dining room. The man was nowhere to be found. It smelled incredible, though, but there was nothing on the stovetop, nor in the oven, nor-

A sharp tap sounded from the front of the house. Hermione ran over and saw Snape just outside, on the front porch. "What on earth…" She slipped on some sandals and walked out and… gasped.

Surrounded by floating tealight candles, she and Snape stood, a little table between them. There, roast chicken covered in lemon slices, parmesan-smashed brussels sprouts, roast honey garlic carrots, and a loaf of bread curiously in the exact shape of her bread maker. Snape pulled out a chair. "Good evening, Ms. Granger," he said, his voice reaching right into the depths of her knickers already.

"Thank you, Mr. Snape," Hermione said, hoping her blush wasn't too obvious.

He served her a plate as she sat in silence, willing her brain to think of something intelligent, smart, and, gods, just _normal_ , to say…

"Wine?"

"Oh, God, yes." She downed nearly half the glass before he was finished pouring it. "Sorry. I'm just thirsty."

Snape simply raised an eyebrow as he re-filled her glass.

Thanks to the wine, Hermione felt a great deal more relaxed as she enjoyed her meal. Snape was an absolute phenomenal cook- she'd known that from eating his eggs benedict after her migraine, but this meal confirmed it.

"I can't believe how perfect these brussels sprouts are," Hermione said, moaning as she popped another in her mouth. "I don't even like brussels sprouts, but these may well be the best damn things I've ever eaten."

Snape's eyes smiled. "I am glad to hear it." There was a couple beats of silence, and then Snape cleared his throat. "I noticed you wore more appropriate clothing whilst gardening today."

Hermione nodded. Right, she'd decided to not go for the desperate look on his last day. Looking down, she shrugged. "I've been getting a bit too much sun lately is all, so, long sleeves and pants today."

"Pity," he responded.

Hermione glanced up quickly. He was slicing his carrots into itty bitty pieces, but… there! The slightest of half smiles, making him look so mischievous and handsome and… gods. _Sexy._

 _Just because he may have flirted just now doesn't mean you can hop in his lap_ , she reminded herself. And she changed the subject rather quickly, and the rest of dinner conversation was quite pleasant (if a bit dull).

"Allow me," Snape said, when Hermione grabbed the empty plates. He waved off her protests and disappeared into the house, all dinnerware floating behind him.

She sighed and leaned against the wall of the front porch, now covered in thornless blackberry brambles. Picking a couple plump berries, she popped them in her mouth. Though the sun was setting, they were still warm, and incredibly sweet.

"Ms. Granger."

She gasped. His voice was just behind her ear, sending a trail of gooseflesh down her neck and spine. He pressed his body closer to her, and she couldn't stop the light shiver.

"You're going to drive me mad," she said, placing another blackberry in her mouth. Though she knew the wine was making her speak carelessly, she didn't stop her mouth from moving. "That bloody sexy voice of yours."

He pressed himself closer. "If that is the case, I am glad to repay you."

"I beg your pardon?"

His lips were now barely touching her ear. "Your little bits of fabric you call clothing? That you've been parading for nearly the whole of my stay?"

Hermione could hardly think straight, what with his hot breath on her ear and all. "You said you hated them. That no one wanted to see that."

"Ah. What I hated was my… response… to what I could see. How you made me want to see... more."

His hand was now on her hip, and she forced herself to not push her bum back and grind on him as his voice got even lower and more gravelly. "There are… problems… when a man is forced into a state for too long… and then, one fateful night, is given the pleasure of a woman."

"Oh?" Her voice was a whisper and he trailed his hand up, up her belly, his fingertips at the bottom of her breast.

"It's all he can do to not lost control the moment he's inside her."

"Huh." Snape's other hand trailed down her leg, slipping under her skirt.

"I apologize, Ms. Granger, but you were _not_ the sexually inept one of our encounter. But I fully intend on making it up to you, if you wish."

Oh, gods, yes, she wished, she wished! "Someone might see us," she whispered instead. The sun hadn't quite set, and she did have neighbors on this side…

"Oh, but I thought that's how you liked it? Or am I mistaken with your… little… fetish?" His right hand was now kneading her breast, his left, the same to her cunt, his rock-hard dick now twitching on her lower back.

"Hermione!"

"For fuck's sake," Hermione whispered under her breath. Snape placed a kiss to her shoulder before lowering himself so that the porch fence hid him. "Thank you," Hermione said to him breathlessly, watching as Luna walked up into her yard.

"Hello, Hermione," Luna said, her bright face in a smile. "How are you this fine spring evening?"

"Oh," Hermione said, chuckling to cover a bit of a squeal as Snape reached up and pulled her knickers down. "Doing quite well."

"Neville and I were hoping to see Professor Snape here and there, but it appears he's hiding out inside?"

Snape had lifted one of her feet, and now he was working the other, getting her knickers officially off. "Oh, yes," Hermione said, her voice unnaturally high. "You know the rules of his stay. He's not allowed to leave the premises."

"Perhaps we could invite him to dinner sometime," Luna said. "Once he's all settled."

"Per-oh!" Snape wasted no time in introducing his tongue to her clit. He lapped her up in warm, slick licks, using the broad side of his tongue. It was all she could do to not scream.

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

"Yes, yes! Yes! I'm fine, Luna. Just a bug bite, is all." Hermione made a great show of slapping at her arm.

"Was it a miniature moon frog that got you? Neville has some homemade paste that would help with it."

"No, no. Just a mosquito, I think." Snape was now bloody worshipping her clit as though it were his last meal, flicking his tongue at all sides of her, then licking, _hard_. She thought she may pass out.

"Ah. Well, have a good evening, Hermione." Luna smiled. Glancing down, she added, "And you, too, Professor!" Then she flounced away.

Snape paused for about two seconds, but then wrapped his lips around her, sucking, and then it was very much all over for Hermione. She couldn't stop the moans as she fell on the porch with her forearms, her orgasm shattering her for what felt like ages.

When she was simply trembling, rather than thrashing, Snape stood and placed a hand at her waist. "Take me to your bedroom, Ms. Granger."

"Fucking hell," Hermione said, breathing heavily. "You've left me in no state to walk, sir."

"Well," he said, pulling her towards him. "I suppose it's good fortune that you're a witch."

 _Pop!_ Hermione barely registered that they were now in her bedroom before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He tasted like wine and _her_ , which was, she was surprised to find, an enormous turn-on.

She grabbed her wand and ran it down his chest, unbuttoning all those bloody buttons in one go. She broke the kiss to shove his coat off, then his top, bending to lap at his nipples, smiling as his breath caught in his throat. She lifted her mouth to his neck, which was just as delicious as she'd imagined, leaving little bruises from his ear to his collarbone as she worked his trousers down.

He'd nearly ripped her dress off, or perhaps he actually did rip it, Hermione couldn't find it in her to care very much either way. Gods knew where her bra ended up- she stopped thinking about it and all other things right around the time his mouth and fingers reached her nipples. After teasing her for the better part of five minutes, he lifted his head and pushed her, gently, back on the bed and climbed on top of her.

He held her thighs open and angled himself, pausing for a moment to look at her, his eyes questioning.

"Inside, _now_ , Snape, or so help me-"

Smirking, he pushed in, and they both moaned. He pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in, forcing her eyes to roll back. "Oh, my-" But her speech ceased as he slammed into her again, and again, somehow using more force each time, but keeping his thrusts maddening slow.

As she felt her orgasm building, her eyes fluttered open to see him watching her intently. "Are you close?" he rasped.

"I'm- I'm-" And she didn't have to say it, really, as she arched her back and tightened around him, the orgasm so strong, she felt it in her fingertips. And he shuddered just after, groaning her name. Her surname, but still. It meant something to her- she didn't know quite what yet, but it seemed significant somehow.

Afterwards, she curled herself around him, running her fingers along the muscles of his arm.

"Do you consider yourself justly compensated for your hospitality?" he asked after they both caught their breaths.

"Hmm. I don't know." Hermione pulled back a touch to give him a wry smile. "To be honest, you _have_ eaten almost all my salmonberry jam."

"Have I?"

"Oh, yes. It was rather pricey, too. Imported." She kissed him lightly. "What I'm saying is, I think another two or three sessions _might_ make up for it."

" _Might_ make up for it?"

"Did you not hear me? The jam was _imported_!"

Snape rewarded her with a deep chuckle, and pulled her closer. "Imported from where?"

"Well, France, if you must know."

"Well, it's fortuitous, then, that I happen to have a cottage in France I am leaving for in the morning. Perhaps, if you accompany me for a number of days, together, we can find this… jam."

Hermione gave him a big smile. "Really? You want me to come?"

He simply raised an eyebrow.

"Well." She settled back on his shoulder. "I'll do it. For the jam, for course."

"Of course."

And Snape turned her over and spent the rest of the evening compensating her for the fancy, imported jam.

 _The end._

* * *

 _Much gratitude to all readers and reviews! You all are the best._


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